Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

I can’t believe I’m threatening a priest . Marac kept his expression harsh, and in the condition and circumstance he was, he didn’t find it difficult to maintain his demeanor.

Valyrie ran to Jurgen’s side. “You can’t abandon Jurgen, not now. Laedron wouldn’t have wanted you to give up and leave. Please, stop this.”

Marac shook his head. “If he dies, Lae shall no longer be bothered with affairs such as these.” He looked at Jurgen. “Will you do as I ask?”

“I can’t do it,” Jurgen replied. “It could condemn my spirit for eternity.”

“Then let the act be of my will. I am the one who demands it be done, so the responsibility-for better or worse-is mine to bear. Do it, Jurgen.”

Jurgen seemed to contemplate the proposition for quite a while, then he said, “Very well. Give me the stone, but know this: I do this on your behalf, and when I have finished, never ask this of me again. None of you may speak of this to anyone else, not ever.”

Marac handed the soulstone to the priest, and Jurgen gave Marac a gaze that he would never forget, the priest’s eyes piercing and penetrating him to his very core.

Once inside the room, Jurgen examined Laedron, then he peered at the window. “We need to take him somewhere secluded.”

“The chapel downstairs should suffice,” Valyrie said.

Without another word, Brice and Marac took Laedron’s body down the stairwell at the end of the hall. They lay him on the shoddy stone altar, then backed away.

“Leave us,” Jurgen said solemnly, clasping his hands together. “I need privacy for this.”

Marac followed Valyrie to the door, then he nudged Brice because he seemed enraptured by the sight of Laedron upon the altar. “Come along. We’ve done all we can.”

On the stairs, Brice said, “I just never could have imagined Laedron like that. He’s not much older than we are, Marac.”

“I know. Worry not, though.” Marac took a seat at the long table once again, and he could only guess how long it might take. Minutes? Hours? Until morning?Whatever it may be, it shall be worth the price to see my friend once more. To hear his voice, his encouragements. I’d settle for a tongue-lashing if only it meant he were here with me .

After an hour had passed, he heard the sound of footsteps against stone, then Jurgen entered from the hall. After a long pause, Marac said, “Well?”

“It is done.” Jurgen folded his arms. “Your friend will live, but he has not awakened.”

Marac stood. “What can we expect?”

“I cannot say how long Laedron will be asleep, but we mustn’t wait for him. We must find and speak to the Sorbian commander posthaste, as early as we can go in the morning.”

“I understand,” Marac said, nodding. “We shall aid you in that task.”

“So long as you don’t threaten me again.”

Marac gazed at the floor, unwilling to look Jurgen in the eyes. “I can only offer my deepest apologies for my… outburst. Please, forgive me, Vicar. I only-”

“You don’t have to offer up excuses. I’ve become tired of seeing so much death of late. I must remind you, however, that I will not perform a miracle with a soulstone again. To do so would be against what little of my principles I have left. I shall go to the consuls tomorrow and raise the question of negotiating, and hopefully, we will be able to leave the city by noon.”

“I won’t ask it of you again.” Marac paused. “Thank you for what you’ve done, and I will go with you to meet my countrymen and negotiate for peace.”

Jurgen went into his quarters and closed the door.

“Will this insanity ever cease?” Valyrie asked.

Marac bobbed his head. “For a time, it shall, but not forever.”

“Goodnight.” Valyrie glanced at him. “I suppose we will go and meet the Sorbians tomorrow.”

“No,” Marac said, stopping her. “You must stay here.”

“For what? To protect me from the ravages of war?”

“To watch over my friend while I’m away. To care for Laedron. I don’t trust his welfare to just anyone.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight.” She disappeared into her room and closed the door.

“What would you have me do, Marac?” Brice asked.

Marac smiled and wrapped his arm around Brice’s shoulders. “You’ll be at my side for this. We’ll need our best people for the time ahead.”

Brice grinned. “I’d better get some sleep, then. Morning’ll come faster than we know it.”

“Yes, get some rest. We’ll talk over breakfast.”

Early the next morning, Marac met Brice and Jurgen in the common room. Caleb and Piers had prepared a great feast-sausages, eggs, flat cakes, and fresh juice. While they ate, Marac eyed Jurgen, receiving only a dead stare in response.

“We’ll be going into the city today, Caleb and me,” Piers said, taking his cloak. “To check a few things out and make sure no more of those mages show up unexpectedly.”

“Good, yes,” Jurgen said, watching them leave.

“You think they’ll agree to peace?” Brice asked, eagerly helping himself to heaping portions of food.

Jurgen had barely touched his meal, but he drank plenty of the juice. “Who can say? The only thing we can do is ask.”

“I doubt they have much of a choice in the matter,” Marac said. “We have quite a story to tell, and the Drakars-the whole reason for the fighting-have been done away with.”

“No guarantee they’ll agree to our terms, though.” Jurgen leaned forward. “After their successes at Balfan, they may yet yearn to devour the entire country.”

Jurgen stood and walked toward the door. “Coming?”

Marac joined him, and Brice was still shoveling handfuls of meat and eggs into his mouth even after they had passed the golden chalice in the square. Jurgen confidently led the way to the consulship chamber, and they were among the first to appear-behind only the chamberlains and the militia. Garnering a few odd glances from the arriving consuls, Marac took a seat at Jurgen’s side and tried to keep a low profile.

Jurgen stood once the chamber had filled. “Vicars, we have been victimized. We have been tricked, and we have been defrauded. We were led to believe that a Lasoronian had ascended to our highest office, but in fact, a Zyvdredi plotted his way to the Vicariate Palace, assuming the title and rank of Grand Vicar.”

Amidst the roars from the gallery, Jurgen continued, “We must undo what the Zyvdredi have done. We must go to the Sorbians and make peace.”

“What proof have you, Jurgen? Where is Tristan?” one of the vicars asked.

“Tristan is dead, along with Dalton Greathis and a number of our militia.”

Sergeant Wilkans stood. “It’s true, all of it. I was there, and I didn’t want to believe it myself. When men in black emerged from the palace and flung spells at us, I saw nothing other than the truth of it.”

“Vicars, we must send an emissary to sue for peace, and I shall volunteer to go.”

Vicar Griffinwold stood and joined Jurgen. “Surely, Vicar Jurgen, we can select someone other than you to send forth. Such a task is very dangerous, and I couldn’t bear anything unfortunate befalling you.”

“You are kind, but the responsibility sits upon my shoulders. I should have been stronger. I failed to serve this body once by indifference and lack of action, but I won’t fail again. Begging the vicar’s pardon, I remain a choice for this mission.”

“As you see fit.” Griffinwold bowed and withdrew to the gallery.

“Then, the question shall be, shall we send Vicar Jurgen to meet with the Sorbians to negotiate peace? If it pleases the chamberlain, I would ask for a vote by live voice.” Receiving a nod from the chamberlain, Jurgen asked, “All in favor?”